Affair To Serendipity
by CaptainTsukiko
Summary: You are Takaba Akihito, the soldier of skies, the child of moons and the enemy of you. And you are afraid to fall. {Historical AU}
1. Into Sion

His eyes were like mist.

The teacup felt too hot, and Takaba Akihito's hands burnt. Light filtered through the bamboo doors. Koi played in the pond, like his mother's blood and hair. And the tatami felt a tad bit too smooth under his feet. He gulped a ball down his throat.

"You're leaving."

The man spoke sure, steady and like an arrow to his side. The man had hair resembling black water, tied in an intricate style (one that he would completely mess up of were him tying it) onyx black robes caked him in much formal an appearance.

And then, Takaba could not speak, even after the ball has been swallowed and disposed of. But he had to. He had to. No one but his grandfather had the ability to ignore a statement from the head of his family.

"..."

Abnormal golden eyes scanned him, and Takaba was a test subject of a mad doctor. Ready and ripe to be cut open bloody.

"For something as troublesome as Ronin hunters."

He spit like it was a word that shouldn't exist, and Takaba discreetly clutched at his clothes, desperate for his brain to dammit work. With something. Something at all, he had to speak now.

.

For what?

.

For what does he have to retaliate?

This is a perfectly normal situation. A one where the elder brother scolded his youngest. It was normal, yet it was not. Perhaps, Takaba wanted to clear the situation, but he couldn't clear the fog in his eyes.

"I.. I am to join Shinsengumi." It wasn't just a 'Ronin hunter' group.

Asami Ryuichi doesn't speak for a moment.

"You have no need.

...Just stay and complete your studies."

Stay for what? Takaba wanted to say. Stay to see you canoodling your wife? Stay so I can be ripped apart and see my blood on shaved snow? Stay so you can use me, again?

"I've already decided."

His fake brother (the mere ring of it tasted tart on his tongue) darted in on him, a snake stare between stone and ruby.

"You are yet a child. You don't understand-"

.

"What don't I understand? Your pride or my wellbeing?"

Cloth whispered. His respondent moved closer to him. And Takaba couldn't see the light. Asami's face was so close to his.

"Neither."

* * *

Takaba remembered. He still remembered their first meet. A time where plum blossoms and Ume stung at his nose. A time when they weren't blemished by air. A time where he had not to care for his scratched (from the big fat cat) face. (Or the poisonous ambrosia called "saving face.") But that didn't spare him of the sizzling glances the neighbours gave him. For his mother intruded on a married man's home. A de-facto concubine of sorts. (The reason? Takaba wasn't entirely certain. Some say: his mother was saved-the damsel in distress-by his would be father, from her abusive husband. But, again, that was in question. And Takaba wasn't curious.)

And the line was drawn by fact; his mother had never came around to marrying lord Asami.

Takaba recalled the way his mother smiled at him, urging him to converse with his elder. But he, was a stubborn one. He tightened his hold on his mother's kimono, hiding behind the secure, giant wall. His elder, Asami Ryuichi, by a decade-stared blackly at him, as if he couldn't decipher wether Takaba was human or not.

But during the evening meal, he held his elder's hand, and did not let go.

He was quite a fool, really. He never considered that the older one was the young master of the house, the favoured one. Nor he fathomed the consequences. He didn't even think about all the people he was hindering from getting an audience with his elder.

Thus, following Asami Ryuichi around wasn't exactly the greatest idea in the planet. For his followers (maybe a week later since he arrived) 'confronted' him to a daily voyage to the candy store.

Fair enough. It was his fault he even tried sticking around with dangerous people.

He, now still, dreamt of darkened alley corners, the strange dampness between his fingers and the burn of his scalp as his head wasn't pulled by hair. He didn't cry, recalled that much. He'd grit his teeth and clawed against burly and disgustingly hairy arms. But no avail, they were too big; too strong for his shrimpy arms. They smacked him and slapped him across the street.

Before he felt the cold of smooth fingers shielding him.

He cascaded down the rough wall behind him, creating a sure unsightly gash that mother would shriek and prod at. Takaba's heart pounded in his ears, his belly churned as he heard-but not seen-the shouts and cries of bullies.

It was a long, long time, filed with bile gliding up his throat and his head suspending in a buzz. Thud. He saw a pair of feet in front of him. Quite a feat, considering his squinted eyes.

"Hey." A gruff voice, the kind of voice that signalled that one doesn't speak very much. "You, look at me."

Takaba didn't comply.

"If you don't look at me; I'll rape you."

What- what was this guy on at? Takaba sniffled and complied, his face caked in bruises and salty-sweat.

"T-thank you..."

"...Let's just go home." Asami held out a hand.

He stood, veiled with cherry petals. Light carved the jade of Asami's skin, and if this wasn't their first meeting-Takaba would lie and say, that it was.

For I've never seen something so beautiful.

.

Takaba can remember following Asami twice as much. In the gardens, in studies, in his room (and even to the bathroom!) His mother said nothing, she would only look at him and slightly smile as she shook her head. As if she was pitying him. Why, why that was the case he hadn't yet come to note.

Three a year later, Takaba Akihito was a name that everyone knew in town. A name associated with "puppy dog." Puppy-dog-Aki, to be exact. Takaba wasn't too embarrassed. Considering he tagged behind the most intimidating beast of the town. Plus, Asami Ryuichi didn't seem to mind. It was nice. He felt privileged, having something that most pining girls didn't have.

Rarely, Asami would let him climb on his shoulders. Letting him touch his smooth hair and snow would whisper disconnected things like, "faraway." "Never," "together."

But it all came to a halt when his father arranged for a more strict routine for education. ("The boy is becoming an adult." He said.) After that, days when he didn't even have a glimpse of Asami came all too often. And when Takaba had a day off, he would sit in Asami's bed-chamber. Waiting and hazy with sleep, only to find out that said brother had journeyed for some work with father, in some remote place. (He didn't want to think about how he would whimper in a dark corner after that.)

First, a day. Three days. Four. Adding to a week. And before he knew it, he hadn't seen Asami's face for a whole month.

In Takaba's stupor, he didn't note how his mothers collarbones were a tad bit sharper, how his mother looked paler day by day or how she would hack like the thunder.

His mother died two days before Tenjin Matsuri.

Takaba found her in her bed. Blood riveting down her mouth, eyes wide and... and-

Her hand clutched a hairpin.

One that his fake father gave her.

.

He was in water. Deep inside water without a way to breath. And darkness is strangling his thin-thin neck.

.

His mouth burnt. He fought tears with a grimace, as the strange people carried his mother's body away. He picked at the skin around his nails. It hurt. But it hurt less than his head.

He thought he glimpsed Asami in the crowd.

But he didn't feel like getting up from the mire.

.

That evening, he beat up a (suspiciously sick looking) boy on the way home.

He was found out.

But he wasn't scolded by any of family.

.

The next morning, he chucked a scroll at his teacher. For no reason other than the sake of hitting him.

He must've hit too hard, for the old man's forehead let out a patch of scarlet paint.

As a result, he was slapped by Asami's mother.

.

Takaba retched. It only matters if I hit someone of high class, right!

.

July 25th, 1862.

Takaba awoke to the sound of the rhythmic hand clapping and ear-bursting taiko drums. The room was dark. He snorted. He'd slept the whole day, it no one woke him.

Perhaps he could tip that as his blessing. He didn't want to confront that bitch today.

Then—

A pebble landed on his nape, through a hole in the paper door.

.

There was crowd by the riverside. People swayed delicate fans to their ruddy faces. Women squealed at the various food stalls.

Some boats held giant lanterns, some were flat stages for noh and bunraku performances, and some thin rowboats that were propelled up and down the river by a group of young men. Some lit enormous oil fires along the deck. Beautiful, Takaba stared, like a dance and song of icy fire. They licked at air, climbing up. To, what seemed to be, an unreachable dream.

Takaba could remember himself, glancing around with childish amusement. The night sky was clear, the wind caressed an icy path down his filmy yukata. His fingers would brush against Asami's.

Asami... Takaba sneered. Asami looked like a prince. Cut from marbles and silk. His hair, which was rarely untied, flowed down his wide chest. (He remembered girls murmuring how they would like to lean on it.)

Sometimes, their hands would brush. Fleeting, warm, haunting. And Takaba's heart would jolt. It's been so long since he's been touched by him.

"Akihito," Asami looked at him with liquid eyes, "let's touch the stars."

And they did.

They ran around heated crowds, touched by wind, lungs threatening to break apart. Light of lanterns patted their backs. And they gazed, with awe, at the soaring sky-flowers humans call fireworks. They were children once more.

The night is hot, the candied apple he ate burnt at his tongue, and pond water lapped at his feet. Wind ruffled the leaves, and stars praised the world.

At that moment:

Asami tightened his hold on Takaba's hand.

Takaba's sight blurred. His eyes burnt.

instead, he laughed like stone.

.

It would've been nice if tears were coloured.

Takaba bit down on his lips. Bad idea. He could taste iron on his tongue.

"Are you alright?" Asami whispered.

Red tears, for anger. Blue tears, for sadness. Green tears, for frustration. And the classic clear ones, for happiness. Then, people could, very well, discern why one was crying.

Asami thrust in, again.

Takaba's head banged against the ground. His abdomen hurt with unreleased tension.

"W-ah.." He groaned.

He felt sweat slide down his neck and he scraped his nails down Asami's naked chest. Leaving trails of red-ribbons. Takaba wasn't exactly aware of the pain he might've caused Asami, his head was in chaos.

He was kissed. Sloppy and saliva ridden, but he was kissed.

Asami moaned into his mouth, as Takaba tightened around him.

They loved it. They lived it.

But they won't say they did it.

.

Goodness always comes to a dead end.

And along with it, gone was Takaba's smooth and warm storm.

.

 _Loving is willingly taking poison._

Takaba whimpered into the pillow.

 _Loving is a lone_ _cherry blossom in koi pond._

"I had to agree to the proposal. Try to understand."

 _Loving is a **mistake.**_

"You lied that it would last. You.. You used me-!"

He lied. He lied that it would go on forever.

A jewel of a second.

Asami started to speak, "No... I lo-" but he didn't finish, and Takaba couldn't hear him through his fogged mind.

"I'm sorry."

He left.

.

It's a day after his marriage to the eldest of Kamakura. Kamakura Ai.. Aiko... or maybe Airi—something along those lines. With that connection, the name, Asami Ryuichi is on the way to becoming the more powerful one, Asami frowned, scribbling on stark white rice paper.

He knew she waited. She waited for him to come to the bridal chamber. Consummate the marriage, or some shit like that. He didn't go to her. And he would have to clear off everything to that woman. At the thought, Asami wanted to barf.

That night... he was too busy pacing around Takaba's chamber. Waiting for him to open the door to him with an adorable sheepish smile like always. But he didn't.

The boy didn't even take breakfast.

Asami's impeccable calligraphy went out of line.

Akihito would be fine, he assured himself. He always was. He cannot be angry with him for long, he would eventually have to understand Asami's situation.

He would. He surely would.

He didn't. Years passed like falling blossoms, Asami was left waiting. He didn't want to give himself away. Takaba had to be the own making the first move, for he as the one at wrong. He needed to understand the situation. (And he would, not now, perhaps. But someday.)

What came now.. He doesn't want. But he can't stop it. It's too late.

I'm the world. Falling apart and chipping away.

And I'm the stars that's letting it happen.

"You're really leaving." Takaba didn't look up at him; he continued to pack his necessities.

"They say Shinsengumi is preparing to leave. Perhaps they have already left."

"Then I will go to Kyoto."

"..." Asami didn't say anything for a moment. "Fine then. Leave."

He left like wind.

Just like two years ago, Takaba grimaced.

.

Shinsengumi headquarters weren't bad. Not terribly so.

Unless you counted the number of times someone hit you with their elbows in sleep, the number of times someone (Namely; Okita Sōji, first division captain) put in too much salt and spice into food, the times when the locals glare at you for saving their homes, or the number of times you get almost killed by Ronin. (These were the times Takaba was glad he'd at least known basic Kenjutsu.)

At least—he had a companion, (of sorts.) Ryu Feilon. How could he be explained by simple humanistic terms, Takaba had not a clue. They ate together during dinner, trained together when Inoue-san came for waking, slept in the same room, and were in the same ranks. But they never spoke. And Takaba wasn't out to look for friendship either.

(Rumours say, Ryu Feilon ran away from a prestigious family of assassins, if his looks were anything to go by. Perhaps.. Takaba sighed, they were slightly on the same boat?)

.

The flashy uniform felt too thin against the cold. Even the heavy headgear was a prison. Takaba's teeth chattered. Others were already patrolling ahead of him. But Feilon... Takaba clutched at his uniform, he looked pale and sick this morning.

"Here." Ryu Feilon, the fey siren, stood silent behind him as Takaba offered him a coat. A coat with red flowers and golden birds.

"I have it in case of emergency."

Feilon's eyes glittered.

Oh... Takaba stared, his eyes are Asami's.

"Thanks."

.

Nights later, they would sit side by side talking of life. (For talking about life, is what life is.) Sake wasn't their companion for most of them. And Takaba was glad. He wouldn't be able to focus! He wagered he would've been dreaming of golden eyes and black claws, if he did.

"You're beautiful."

Takaba's sensed the ice of Feilon's hand.

Feilon only scoffed and swatted him away.

"Such an ass-licker."

Takaba dared to hold his hand again. Shooting (what he thought was) a bright smile.

"Perhaps even more so than Hijikata-Shi."

This time, Feilon didn't swat it away.

"You're such a.." He didn't speak more.

Takaba stared at stars. Splinters pervaded his heart and filled his eyes.

 _This was the same sky he'd once watched with Asami._


	2. Gold Emissary Of Burgundy

"What are you afraid of?"

Takaba lay on his back. The tatami digging into his bones, the room has no light and Feilon bore at his eyes.

It is what this is. Sex. Enticement of the flesh. Plain old _sex._ He's done this before. Takaba draws a long breath. It's shouldn't be too hard to enact. It's all, all too familiar. Takaba shivers under Feilon's touches. He cam sense his hairs standing up, pinpricks wafting down his waist. He can hear the suckling noises radiating throughout this room. Feilon's arms wind around him, and he can't draw breaths as easy anymore.

"Feilon." In spite, Takaba tightens his arms around Feilon's hips, "Continue."

.

"Are you never forgetting," Feilon spits with his snake-like eyes, " _ **him?**_ "

Takaba bites his lip.

.

Probably not, fey. I think never.

.

Itō Kashitaro is at it. Again.

Takaba's hand worked on the dishes. _Scrub. Scrub. Scrub._ The water often splash on his apron. Staining it a dark, wet patch. The next one in kitchen duty would probably have to have ...words with him, Takaba thinks. "First Kō.. Now Takato?" He murmurs with a crooked lip, "What a despicable tyrant, he should _burn in hell!_ " He squeaked the dish absolutely dry. The dish promptly landing in a swift clatter by the others.

"Whom is the matter?" Takaba looks up to up to a black-clad figure. Saito Hajime eyes the dried dish. "You're going to break them."

"Saito-dono." He does a small bow, offering a meek apology for the mess. "Are you on in kitchen duty?"

"Sōji isn't in." "Agh. Out with leader again..."

Saito sniggers slightly, nodding. "Kondo-San prefers his company." Takaba goes back to his dish washing. "Cause he's the most More soundly, this time round. Sound of vegetables being chopped and the clangs of dishes fill the air. Takaba wipes his sweat. And gulps to clear the tightness in his belly. Kō and Takato... He peers at Saito's form. Perhaps he should speak of them to him? Takaba blinked. Yes, it's wise a choice.

"Have you heard? About Itō-san gathering soldiers..."

Saito glances at him, eyes dark. "The other day, Kou and Takato got invited to tea with him." Takaba lowers his tone. "They got... invitations." Saito narrows his sharp eyes. Takaba continues to explain. Mayhap sometimes, Takaba mused, even the tufty-browed shadow of Saito Hajime was interested in common gossips.

.

Friendship doesn't last long.

(This is especially true in case of females.)

When the leaves of ancient trees go old and wary, even the most stubborn of friendships go to dust. Marriage, children, choice of profession, not being the charming one longer - in Takaba's case, none applied.

Months later, when Itō deserted Shinsengumi ("He had a change of morals.") along with his soldiers. Saito Hajime, with his moonlit steps, left Shinsengumi. Following Itō, Takaba thinks, like a dog.

Morals change with time. Takaba's morals changed. He followed Shinsengumi's flashy uniformed strut to this day, leaving the cage called "Asami household." But what he can't fathom is how people can tear, destroy friendships so fucking easily. Without blinking and eye, it's like changing clothes. Weren't you the one to save my back in Ikeda-ya? Weren't you the one who shared dumplings with me? Weren't you the one who-

Feilon put a soothing hand on him.

Takaba favours thoughts. Thoughts that resembled a spear through his abdomen:

Friendship doesn't exist for a pathetic guy like you, you should be glad he even spared a glance. What did you think? You'd start over again? That you'd be happy without him? That's not possible. Not for the likes of you.

You'll always be like this. Feilon wraps an arm around Takaba's head.

Takaba grins.

You'll always be a crying little bitch. Waiting for someone to care for this despicable you.

"I'm just fine!"

.

Takaba sleeps peacefully that night. Dreaming of gold eyes, copper and iron on his eyes.

And a turned back. Formidable and frightening, fading towards light.

While he is on the cold-cold ground.

.

I _liked_ him.

I _hated_ him.

I _love_ him.

.

Blood.

The thought of it burns his skin.

Blood.

Takaba slashes at a black-clad soldier. Blood spray out of the gash and stain his clothes. Sickeningly tight, western clothes. Has this mark the end of his identity? His identity of a noble samurai?

Blood.

Another slash. Another death. Another splash of nature's ochre.

A form suddenly falls to ground by his side. A familiar form with shining hair and catty eyes.

No. No. No.

 _"—FEILON!"_

Another loss of comfort.

.

"I... I thought you died."

Perfume of death licks at Takaba's nose. His friends are dead, or dying in other cots.

"I am here, no?"

But someday, you won't.

Takaba clutches at Feilon's hair.

"Feilon-" Feilon's palm feel cold against his lips. "Call me 'Feilong.'"

"Why?"

"...My family's professions don't matter me anymore. I've decided to accept myself, as I am, and what I feel.."

Feilon- Feilong holds his hand.

"I love you."

* * *

Hijikata-shi has died.

He'd been killed on horseback by a bullet, which struck him in the abdomen and shattered his lower back.

Takaba would've sniggered at the speaker of such. It was impossible. The oni-fuckucho, of a thousand flaming fists, dead? No no. _You must be mistaken, sir. Go drink a beach or something._

And yet, the surviving soldiers cry by his side. Kou and Takato support each others' shoulders, wailing. Cries of newborn babes, they are. It tears at his consciousness and make his head spin.

Hijikata-shi shouldn't have been killed. He didn't deserve it. Never.

A bit strict, and mean.. but, he didn't deserve it. Takaba's throat constrict. What.. Why was their leader, the one to die? Why no one else? Takaba's breathing spell changed. Why.. why didn't the bastard just fucking stay at Goryokaku? Why did he have to try and get to Benten Daiba? They would've been just fine even if he didn't! They were just fine!

But there is no use drawing a rusted sword.

Hijikata Toshizō has departed.

What were they to do now?

Takaba sees black.

This is a one-way train.

To Asami household.

.

"You have lived...!"

His ribcage hurts, it's being crushed in-Takaba notices with a scowl. Asami's breath warms his ears.

Perhaps it's a given one will go back to their roots, at one turn or other. Or perhaps it is fate lulling red strings, tied to their bodies like wood-puppets. (On this - When had he started to believe in fate? How preposterous!) One Must always go back to the earth they were made of. Unwilling or ...otherwise. Such, we call, is death.

So is this death? Are Asami's arms death in disguise of enlightenment?

Takaba cranes his neck to Feilon... Ah, he is Liu Feilong now, isn't he.

Asami pulls back. His hand is strong, hot iron tongs that burn him.

"Please- You.. Don't throw my heart around anymore."

He feels a strong beat in his heart.

What? Why does this feel... as if I've heard this phrase before? Or this is a trick of the mind-

 ** _—SSH!_**

Takaba doesn't have the time to theorise, as Liu Feilong slides the door and leaves. He leaves like fire. Burning everything in its route.

Takaba should've expected this outcome. The bird that desires to fly, flaps its wings in the cage beforehand. He should know by just looking at the flow.

It can't be helped, Takaba rasped out in his mind.

Perhaps he said it aloud. For Asami tightened his arms around him, as if that was even possible.

.

"Takaba.. You had me. But the truth is that you always liked him, right..?"

He doesn't have the gall to reply.

"...There's no use," Theres a jubilant lilt in him, "crying over spilt milk!"

"What ...do you mean?"

"Takaba-no, Akihito," The lull of it sends waves down his back. Feilong's eyes gleam, and it's all shining and so darn bright, "I'm letting him win. For now."

Takaba looks at him with wide eyes.

"But know-

I'll lop his head off. If anything, I find, is amiss."

Again, it's all, really is, too bright and glittering for his eyes.

* * *

It's all strange, really. His head is pressed into a wide chest. _Asami._

Takaba tastes pink in air, zithers play in his head. I'm probably going mad. He clutches Asami's coat. Black, red and gold. It reflects by dim candle-light and on Asami's soft face.

 _'Your pride got the worst of you, didn't it?'_

 _They speak with air. Air and love._

 _'Sorry. I'm so very sorry.'_

But—

Takaba's eyes blur.

"...You keep giving me sleepless nights," Asami strokes his cheek, "While you sleep so soundly. It's not ...fair." What is he talking about? I'm awake! Takaba opens his mouth. "

But he can't speak. No sound followed, only wafts of air.

Asami is far, far away. A remote image from underwater.

Takaba tries to move his hands. Nothing moves.

Wait—what, Takaba wheezes.

What the hell is happening?!

He drifts away.

Trying to grasp at reality is trying to catch smoke.

 _It's **useless.**_

.

The next time he's wake up. He would hear trillions of little, thin voices. Stars move by his head and he'd jolt up to find his body midair. There's nothing below him. Except black, haunting darkness.

Small little ...things fly past his head, with batty screeches. All around him, all tearing through his heart. And there floats a gold clad woman in front of him. She claws at his neck with her jade hand.

"Hello~" She giggles. "I'm sorry we had to meet in such clear a weather~!"


	3. Wether Right Or Wrong

(I'm going crazy.)

"Takaba Akihito." There's a dark tilt to her voice. One that sends disgust licking up his legs.

(Or maybe I always was crazy. I only ...didn't notice it.)

He manages to croak. She giggles with that thin voice of hers. Takaba gulped with a sore throat. I didn't know teeth could be that white. He rounds up the place. Floating, are screens all around his body. The screeches had come from there. It hurts his ears, these damn things..

There are moving... motions. His first time with Asami. His first time getting a sword. Him berating a few little shrimps (when they had held a kitten captive.) And the time Feilong confessed to him-living scenes from his life float past him.

Just-what's up...? Is this a dream?

He looked at the golden woman.

She exits a troublesome vibe... Takaba narrowed his eyes.

The woman speaks, "You can call me 'Aeonus.'"

"Aeonus.." Takaba huffs. "...What is this place?Why am I-"

Aeonus made a swatting motion. "Now, now. There's no need to be worked up. We have an eternity to talk. Strange and literal." She grinned. "For I'm the god of life and memoirs."

"God of time...?"

"Do you remember your current life? Takaba Akihito, the obstinate photographer?"

"What are you—" Takaba.. The obstinate photographer...? Takaba squinted at nothing. He recalled blood, a suited Asami, a bitter Feilong in white cheongsam. Him, snooping around a goon. One connected to Asami. Getting kidnapped. Feilong abusing him. Why? What is all this? He remembered so much more.

How did Takaba Akihito, a samurai-exist then?

He gulped.

What is all this? Is this all a imagination?

"Hehe~! You're an interesting one, Takkun." Aeonus floated up close to him. "Do you remember what theFibonacci series is, idiot-chan?"

 _1 plus 1 equals 2. 2 plus 1 equals 3. 3 plus 2 equals 5..._ And on, and on, and on. It's been beaten to his brain. Sensei had been a tough one back in school, Takaba recalled with a sneer. Ah-It seems damned math would follow him to the depths of hell..

"Ye-But what has that got to do with any of this?"

"Consciousnesses revolve around it, idiot-chan. It doesn't appear in biological settings for nothing!" Takaba failed to notice the nickname, his hands shook. "Leaf arrangement in plants, to the pattern of the florets of a flower, a little cell, a hive of bees, and even all of mankind." She flipped on her back. "Among the crowd—Number three is, well, privileged. To be a god itself." She sniggered at what must've been a very stupid expression on him "Birth, life, death. Past, present, future. Happiness, sadness, jealousy..."

A god of human objectivity.

Takaba mused how much a decadent power that must be.

"Get to the fucking point."

She huffed. "And I'm so nice to explain to you too. _**You ungrateful..**_ " She grumbled to a far end, sitting on a rock among the flying herd. "Even being a 'four,' this behaviour is unacceptable!"

"'Four' Three? What has any of this," Takaba gestured to his self. "Got to do with me?"

"Well," She grumbled. "As I said—before you rudely interrupted me—three is a god of living beings... They're born, live their lives, die. But there are people.." She scowled. "They are marked by four. An extra VIP, of sorts. They get to have birth, life, death," Aeonus snorted, "and.. after-life. Those are the more troublesome of people to handle-" She haphazardly threw round her arms. "You," she grinned at him, "are one of those lucky herd~ Congrats!"

She summoned confetti from midair, raining down on them like daggers. Birth, life, death, and afterlife.. Takaba looks at his palms. Does that mean... He is already dead?

"Technically yes." Takaba glared. "Do you remember, that bullet in that stinking ship?"

 _The binder, heavy in his hold. Wind ruffles his overheated hair. The. there's a blazing feel in his chest._

Bullets.

He was hit by a bullet.

Takaba jerked as Aeonus put a claw down his cheek.

"What I do is: bring them a false dream." "Heaven?"

"Mm. Heaven. A type of beautified time capsule, custom weaved threads for their needs. The four chooses between his life and dream. Most pick their more ...succulent of dreams. It is their afterlife." There is a strange burn in her blue eyes.

"And they live it. Over and over again. Time becomes useless."

 _ **Useless.**_

Takaba's eyes popped.

"That's... _worse than hell!"_ Aeonus scoffed. "So you say. Did Asami Ryuichi not make you feel secure, loved in that dream? Did you not feel happier?"

 _Asami..._

"Moving on. There are exceptions to your hell," She swished back to her seat, "some are that refuse those dreams. Few, because I'm _such a great-_ _ **great**_ weaver. That's why coma survivors exist. Flashes of heaven to children. Wisps of smokey memoirs that people should never have... Fascinating, no?" She giggled.

"So- idiot-chan."

.

"What do you choose?"

.

Takaba, the insecure and unsure photographer, or Takaba, the secure and happy samurai?

What.

.

What do I choose?

.

Between fake Asami who loves him. And the Asami who he isn't sure of-

Takaba leaned back to watch the stars. They were drops of life.

Danger, haven and a wash of cold sea.

.

Between fake and real. What is the difference.

Asami might love him... But why do I want him to love me?

Takaba felt his lips curl.

It's like I'm an old and jealous housewife.

.

"I am waiting, idiot-chan."

.

What is the point of loving if it's only for the sake of myself? Selfish and disgraceful. But still, important. Asami, he.. Takaba's heart pounded. Deserving and ..and wanting. He should choose the dream. Everything in that concise world is fake anyway. Fake and betraying.

Yes...

Yes.

There was no point in chasing someone, you don't even know if they care for you. Takaba's waited enough. No more.

.

"I..."

.

He is betraying Asami. The prominent Asami.

The original. The him that he knows by heart. And not a wisp of wet spider web; that would disappear once he opened his eyes.

The thought was fleeting. And a kite through gales, but it keep his heart beating and cold sweat sliding. Sliding well beyond the cage of his heart, heat.

.

"Yes?" Aeonus prompted.

.

There is no use.

When did I think about betraying Asami or not. It's nonsense.

He been betrayed so much already. Deceived and kept in the dark... I should choose the dream-

"I choose myself. And my real life. "

Because there might not be a warm future. Takaba took in a deep breath. But there might be a blooming one. Along with a light-pink present.

There was no response from the wide-eyed god.

Asami is a scenery through rain-stained glass, and Takaba is the one watching. Waiting. And admiring.

So beautiful.

.

Aeonus spoke, eyes burning and throat constricted.

"You're so stupid. I've never seen someone as stupid as you-" She growled with her heaving chest. Eyes red and mouth foaming. "You're— _SO STUPID!_ There's never been a human..." She huffed. "There's never been a human, puny little human, in years!

There's never been one to refuse me in years!"

She lunged towards him.

"And you... And you..."

Takaba forgot to breath when her claws scratched his face.

.

Go. Go and die! Stupid idiot!

.

She shoved him into a hole.

.

Black. It's all black.

Takaba's eyes rolled to the back of his head.

Black like the dead and rotting.

.

Asami... He heard a voice through abyss.

Asami...

.

He found light and the scent of blood. When he reached out. Leather. And sea salts.

And Asami.

.

Asami, don't kiss me with a bullet between your teeth. Please.

"You should just sink with me to the deepest of hells."

I will. And I am now.

.

And at night, winter would whisper at Takaba's consciousness. This is wrong. This is a mistake. This, won't last.

But the warmth pressed against his side.

Really, wasn't too bad.

He smiled of blossoms and ichor.

.

Wether right or wrong it is, then.


End file.
